


Crashing Worlds

by AngelDemonOrMaybeEvenHuman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelDemonOrMaybeEvenHuman/pseuds/AngelDemonOrMaybeEvenHuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunting is a work that requires the brave, the daring, the selfless. They're the only ones who can do they job. They get killed by the job. Even the best die. But someone's gotta do it, and it might as well be me.<br/>Evolves into Dean x OC<br/>I promise to write Destiel in later fics I swear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will have a major plot line later! It's independent from the Supernatural story line. You have to watch up to season 8, or face spoilers! Sorry, this is my first fanfiction. Dean x Female OC. Bits of Fluff, some violence, lots of sass.

Hunts. Gruelling, physically and mentally demanding, painful, difficult, and generally involved death. It was a work for the brave and the resilient and even the bravest and most resilient would fall. We hit new lows, break bones, have our spirit crushed. We fall. Then the next day we pick ourselves back up again and keep on doing the job. After all, who else is going to keep the monsters under the bed away? Hunters have their own ways of continuing on. Some drink. Some smoke. Some do drugs. Some sleep around. Some can go in groups. They're the lucky ones who are the most unfortunate. We all die. They have someone to tell them to keep going and they have one more person to loose. I had my own ways. How dark they were depended on the hunt. But I still needed someone to help me get up.  
Blood was everywhere. Vamp nests always involve blood. The vics: teenaged girls with auburn hair. Missing for months. My machete was now stained with Crimson blood. The floor, the walls, my clothes, all covered in it. I slashed at the necks of the vampires. All such amateurs. None older than fifty. So simple. I could kill them so easily. They made my job easier. Until I got overwhelmed. I felt it's hot breath by my shoulder. The vampire's long nails dug into my right arm. I let out a short yelp, half surprise, half pain. My arm moved faster than my body, the momentum carrying my body along, moving fast enough to see the ugly head roll, the decapitated body crumpling. Two left. The two male vampires ran at me. I slashed and hacked, neither of them standing a chance. I now stood alone in the old farm house. The dry and flacking outdated wallpaper was stained red. The carpet I stood on was soaked. I wiped the sweat off my brow. A smear of blood that was not mine was now smudged on my wrist.  
I walked out to the grassy field. The older motor bike was leaning up the green painted siding. I immediately knew something wasn't right.  
"Shit," I hissed, quickening my pace towards the bike. The brakes were shot, the lines cut. No wonder I didn't see the vampire behind me. I wasn't going anywhere. I took a stained rag from one of the many packs that hung on the sides of the old Harley motorcycle. It used to be white. I bandaged my arm, tying the long strip of fraying cloth into a tight knot. That should hold for now, I thought.   
I searched though my bags, looking for my cell phone. Maybe I could find a bus or a cab or-  
I heard a car engine and the sound of tires crunching on dry grass. I looked up at a sleek black car that was slowly rolling uphill towards me. I decided to wait this out. I wouldn't run far, and I didn't have a ride anymore. I checked that my gun was loaded. I wanted to be prepared for the worst.  
Fortunately, what followed was not the worse. What followed were two men. One tall guy with dark blonde hair, the other even taller with long brown hair.  
"Ma'am I think you should stay away from here," the blond said.  
I backed up a few paces as the men reached the farm house. The taller one quickly looked in. He looked back to the other with a puzzled face. He stepped inside, the blonde following suit. They looked around, eyes wide.  
"What is-" the blonde one started.  
"I'm guessing you're here for the same reason I was," I said.  
The two men returned back to the grass in front of the farmhouse.  
"You're a hunter?" The taller one asked.  
"Bingo. I just got here first. You can go off and do your own thing. I've never really worked with other hunters, so..." I said, sentence trailing off.  
"So you-"  
"Killed about ten vampires and had my breaks slashed and got a cut on my arm cos I wasn't careful so you're welcome."  
The taller one moved towards me.  
"Formalities first. Names. I like to know who I'm with," I said.  
"I'm Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam," the blonde one said.  
"Anne Wesley. And if you could give me a ride, that'd be great. Just drop me off somewhere. A motel or something. My breaks are shot. I did after all just make your day a lot easier."  
"Yeah, sure," Sam said.  
I grabbed two of my packs. Sam grabbed the other two and Dean popped the trunk. I lugged the bulky tan bags to the black vintage car. I bit my lower lip, my right arm radiating a throbbing pain.  
I got into the back of the Impala, sitting behind Sam. Dean drove.  
"So, how long have you been hunting?" I asked.  
"Our dad was hunting since I was three. We joined him on hunts when we were teenagers," Dean said. "You?"  
"Hunting with my uncle when I was sixteen. Learned how to shoot when I was fourteen," I replied, buckling the seatbelt.  
"Are you sure about leaving your bike?" Sam asked.  
"It was a nice ride but I'm not heartbroken. I liberated it from an impound lot," I said.  
Dean drove to the small one-way road. The Impala was bouncing from side to side as it drove down the small hill.  
We made small talk for about fifteen minutes. Nothing serious. After all, it was a sunny day. Too nice for heavy stuff.  
I looked out the window. The Midwest town was a smaller one. The sky was bright blue. White clouds dotted the sky, partially covering the sun. It was warm, a beautiful day.  
Dean pulled up at a tacky motel.  
"This is where we're staying for tonight. You can just camp out here for tonight," Dean said.  
"Thanks," I said, opening the car door.  
The motel room was plastered in an outdated wallpaper. The room smelled faintly of mothballs and old books. I chucked my bags into a corner by the old brown tweed couch.  
"Damn," I hissed, looking at my arm. The bandages were stained. Obviously the cut was more sever than I thought.   
"You might want some stitches for that," Sam said.  
"Yeah, I know," I said. I dug through two of my bags before finding what I needed. Vodka, dental floss, and a sewing needle. I grabbed a Kleenex from the bathroom and folded it up. I poured a bit of Vodka onto it before holding the tissue to my skin. The alcohol made the cut burn. I hissed at the uncomfortable nature of cleaning cuts. I threaded the needle with the floss, tying a knot a few times over on itself. My left hand was shaky, being right handed and not being blessed with the gift of being ambidextrous.  
"You're just going to make it worse," Dean said, yanking the sewing needle out of my hand.  
"I'm fine, Dean!"  
"You can hardly even see that side of your arm. It'll be faster if I just do it."  
Both points were true so, reluctantly all the same, I relented.  
I winced as Dean sewed the skin back together, the initial pierce of the needle unexpected to my nerves. The rest was easier as I adjusted to it.  
"I'm going to look for anything that might be worth an investigation 'round here," Sam said, sitting cross legged on the bed on the left, laptop perched on this legs.  
Dean nodded once and carried on. His right hand was doing the actual stitches as his left hand was across my arm, above the cut, to keep it still.  
I was starting to get bored of the silence. I started humming to myself.  
"Is that-"  
"I was soaring ever higher  
But I flew too high," I sung, cracking a smile.  
"Do you two want me to give you some privacy?" Sam asked.  
"Shut up," Dean said over to his brother. Sam and I laughed.  
As Dean re-wrapped my arm with a fresh bandage, Sam folded up his computer. He went to the mini bar and grabbed three beers. He handed one to Dean and offered one to me. I took the cool glass bottle in my hand. When Dean finally put his hands down, I cracked the deal on the beer. I took a quick swig.  
"Found anything yet, Sam?" I asked.  
"Not yet. It can wait until tomorrow," he replied.  
For the rest of the evening, we played cards, drank, and ate some order-in pizza. It was my best night in years.  
I slept on the couch that night. I borrowed a pillow from Sam's bed and a blanket from Dean's. I could smell the difference. Sam's smelt like citrus, old books, and a bit of nutmeg. Dean's blanket, which I pulled up to cover half my face, was like clean soap, leather, gunpowder, and apples. I was hunting by myself for twelve years. This was the first night in twelve years that I didn't sleep alone. I slept more soundly than I ever had before.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up to the sound of running water. I opened my eyes to see Dean pulling on a button up, keeping it open at the front.  
"Morning sweetheart," Dean said.  
"Don't call me sweetheart," I mumbled. My hair was an absolute mess. I could see the blonde hairs sucking up every which way. I could see them as I glanced around the room. Sam was in the shower.  
"Ah brighten up. Sam found something worth checking out. Looks like some ghoul attacks. Nothing much."  
"Who are they going after?" I asked.  
"There doesn't seem to be any major connection between the vics. Four men, three women. Different ages, appearances. And it's alternating between male/female," Dean answered  
"So it wants to go after a chick next. Great. That means I get to stick around a little while to play bait," I said, shoving the blankets to the end of the couch.  
"I was going to bring it around differently but since you brought it up like that, sure."  
I sighed.  
"So what location?" I asked.  
"One death a week. Its going from the bars or clubs at the North end of the city and moving to the South. Sam thinks he has a location," Dean replied.  
"Perfect. Undercover in the skanks and hookers unit. It's just what I always wanted," I sighed.

I got dressed into my ripped jeans and red and black plaid flannel. I knew that if I was going to be dressing the part, I would end up in a dress. Jeans were definitely more preferable, in my opinion.  
The diner that we ate at was vintage and looked just a little bit dodgy from the outside. We sat at a red vinyl booth with silver duct tape hiding the rips and tears that the years had added. I sat across the brothers. I scanned the room. Vintage wallpaper: yellow and white stripes that were stained and bleached from the sun. Large checkered tiled adorned the floor in scuffed black and white. Two clicks hung. One's hands stood still and the other was an hour and twenty four minutes ahead. A total of three stuffed deer heads hung from the walls.  
The woman who came to take our orders was quite pretty. Black hair, light freckles, bright blue eyes. She was most certainly eyeing Dean.  
"What can I get for ya?" She asked. Her speech was slightly more muddled from the pink chewing gum.  
"I'll take the vegetarian omlette," Sam said. The waitress jotted it down.  
"Short stack and bacon with coffee. Black," Dean said in turn.  
"I'll have the same," I said, copying the older Winchester. Although the waitress was out of earshot, I still kept my voice to just above a whisper.  
"So, what the plan? I mean, I know I'll be the bait, but then what? I mean, they die when you decapitate them and my machete won't exactly fit under the skirt of my dress," I said.  
"We'll stay in the bar with you. Just keep yourself alive for a little while and we'll go out with you. Just keep it distracted for a minute," Sam said.  
"Cool. Not dying is always fun," I said. "Here ya go," the waitress said, coming back to our table with a rounded transparent coffee pot, filled to the brim with the steaming dark drink. She filled Dean's mug, then mine. "Cream or sugar, hon?" She asked Dean. "Nah, I'm good thanks," Dean said. "I'll come back with some water for you," she said to Sam. We sat in silence. About thirty seconds later, she came back with a pitcher of water. She poured the water into Sam's tall, clear, glass cup. "I'll be back in a minute with your food," she said. "Well, to trying not to die," I said, raising my small coffee mug. The Winchester brothers tapped their respective glasses/mugs against my own, a strange noise coming from the glass and ceramic contact. "Hothothot!" I exclaimed, burning my tongue on the steaming beverage. The Winchesters unashamedly laughed at me. Hey, I would have too.  
"Nice try, sweetheart," Dean laughed.  
"Oh come on Dean!" I exclaimed. We were all laughing at my mistake at this moment.  
"Hey, you have to admit it was pretty funny," Dean replied, still chuckling.  
"I know it was funny but stop calling me sweetheart!" I laughed back.  
"Everything alright darlin'?" The waitress asked, coming back with our plates. "We're good, thanks," Sam replied.  
I grabbed the fork and knife from my plate, the silverware warm from the dishwasher. I ate ravenously. "Well I have to give up on dinner to fit into the stupid dress so I might as well eat now. It's 11:30, and this is all I'll get to eat," I said. I wasn't looking forward to this hunt.  
And of course, like everything, things you dread always seem to make time speed up.  
I sighed. Form fitting dresses and makeup. Not my style. My hair was tugged into an ornate braid. The tight black dress continently covered the stitches on my arm. The hem went a quarter of the way down my thighs. Sticky pink gloss was plastered on my lips. Thin gold bangles hung limply on my skinny wrist. My ankles were aching already in high gold heels. I felt uncomfortable, dying to get back into normal clothing.  
I got out of the bathroom, tugging on the dress.  
"I hate this. Let's go now, get it over with. Do the two of you still have the thigh sheath? I don't have anywhere to put the damn knife. I miss pockets," I said, trying to find a way to lower the hem of the skirt without showing more cleavage.  
I bent down to find my thigh seath and knife, seeing as that was all I could fit under the skirt. I found the seath first, then the knife. It took a minute of sorting through the varied weapons to find it. I put my leg up on a motel bed. I hiked up the hem of the skirt, determined to just deal with it. I snapped the buttons together, adjusting it appropriately. I grabbed the knife and slid it into its casing. I was the only one who had to change, leaving me the odd one out.  
I got into the back seat of the Impala, Dean driving, Sam sitting shotgun.  
I grumbled in discontent. This dress hardly covered my butt, sitting down causing it to ride up. I scowled and shifted my position, but the dress only rode up even more. I gave up and crossed my legs.  
The club was dark, smelt like a mix of sweat and alcohol, and was filled with half naked bodies grinding against each other. I would rather be anywhere else but here. I took a seat by the bar on the far end, Dean sitting not too far away from me. Close enough to keep an eye on the situation, far enough not to look suspicious.  
"I'll have a beer," I said, getting the attention of the bartender.  
I took the brownish bottle from the bartender. He was being eyed by a girl on the dance floor. He wasn't my type. Dark tan, black hair in a ponytail.  
I took a small sip. My eyes widened for a second. I put the bottle down on a disposable coaster. It wasn't bad, I guess. I drank another few sips, then put the bottle back. Sam was trying to keep a low profile, but a bleached blond chick that was all boobs and butt was trying to chat him up. She was drunk out of her skull. It was maybe 10 at night, early for these sorts of people.  
I looked over at a man walking towards me. Still sober, the odd one out in this club, except for Sam and Dean. His dark brown hair was clean cut. He was average height, a by taller than me, but shorter than Dean. Maybe five eleven.  
"Hey baby. Wanna get outta here? Grab something to eat?" He said.  
Oh wow. This was so cheesy. Like a tacky monster movie. I wanted to laugh.  
"Sure baby," I said, sluring my words, making myself stumble upon standing up, faking being drunk.  
I followed the ghoul out to the back alley.  
"You look so delicious," the ghoul said, still with a sultry voice.  
He came at me as I grabbed my knife. I hoped that Sam and Dean wouldn't take too long. But I wasn't well prepared. I sliced its shoulder, but it was hardly fazed. The ghoul pounced for me, moving incredibly fast. I did a tuck and roll, trying to get out of its way. The ghoul slid down the pavement, clothes ripping. I went down, lunging quickly to stab it's neck. Until I was slamed against a wall. Shit. There was more than one ghoul here. I couldn't handle myself for much longer. One hand was at my throat. The other was at my wrist. I kicked the ghoul's knee just hard enough to surprise it, giving me a chance to get in a good attack. I freed my hand and slit the thing's throat. It wasn't dead, but it was disabled now. I prayed that Sam and Dean would hurry up. I thought that I heard footsteps coming towards me, but it was probably just my imagination. I had two injured ghouls on my hands. I was still moderately screwed. I decided to take an offensive stance. I lunged at the first ghoul. It dodged too quickly. I managed to graze it's cheek, but I ended up falling to the ground. The second ghoul pounced on me, hands on my throat, slowly strangling me. The other ghoul tried to wrestle the knife out if my hands. I wasn't getting enough air. I let out a harsh, dry laugh. "What?" The first ghoul demanded. "The Winchesters are behind you, bitch," I choked out. The heads rolled to the ground. But no. We weren't done here. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven ghouls emerged. "Well fuck," I said, coughing from the near asphyxiation. The ghouls attached. Sam tossed me a large hunting knife, my smaller knife going back into my seath. But we were being overwhelmed. We weren't powerful enough. Not enough to take two to three at a time. I chucked off my heels, knowing that they weren't going to help my mobility. "Dean, you have to call Cas!" Sam shouted. "Ugh, dammit!" Dean shouted back. I didn't know who or what Cas was, but I didn't have time to ponder that. I sliced off the head of a ghoul before a figure appeared behind Dean. He wore a trench coat and tie. He placed his hand on the head of a ghoul. The ghoul screeched before falling to the ground. No. No no no no no. I screamed. I turned away and focused on killing the other ghoul that was fighting me. I was freaking out. My technique became sloppy, my body raked with fear. No. Please. Not again. I sliced off the head of the ghoul. The body fell limply to my feet. That was the last one. The others had the other ghoul's covered. The man in the trench coat turned to face me. "No! Please! Don't!" I shouted, knife held ready. No. Anything but this. "Anne! Anne calm down!" Dean yelled. My breathing was short and shallow. "You're an angel! Like her!" I yelled. "I mean no harm," the man said. "Okay, Anne, calm down for a moment," Sam said. He put down the machete he held and stepped towards me. "No! The angels are evil," I said, trembling. I couldn't deffend myself against him. I was helpless. "I mean no harm to you. I am Castiel, angel of the lord. I was the one who dragged Dean out of perdition," Castiel said. "But what if you're with her?" I asked, still not letting my guard down. "Anne, give me the knife. Just for a minute. You're worked up. Calm down. We'll drive back to the motel and talk about this there. I swear, Cas will not hurt you," Sam said. After a few moments of still silence, I handed Sam my hunting knife. Castiel walked over to me. I backed up against the wall. "Your arm. It's bleeding," Castiel said. He reached out for my arm. The stitches had ripped. I hardly had time to make a noise before the touched the bleeding gash. Before I could blink, the skin knitted itself together at his touch. "Anne, please. You're going to be fine. Let's head back," Dean said, leading to the Impala.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, it's March 1st, Jensen Ackles's birthday today! Just thought you should know.

I sat in the backseat with Sam. Castiel sat shotgun next to Dean. He apparently intended to join us, an endeavour that I was far from excited about. I remained silent as the engine of the Impala hummed gently bellow me. It was that oh so faint noise that I focused in on. It was the only thing that was regulating my previously erratic breath. My heart was still beating a thousand miles a minute, but you couldn't blane me. Knowing what I know, having experienced what I experienced with angels, you could hardly blame me for what happened when I first met Castiel. I was still afraid. I didn't know if he was with her. Still I had no idea if I was ready to even ask. I didn't want to go back to that memory. As the hum of the engine died, I stepped out of the car. I carried the high heeled shoes. I didn't want to put them back on, despite the rain that was currently drenching my hair, no doubt making my makeup run. "I'm going to the shower," I said, grabbing some clothes from my bag. I ran to the bathroom before anyone could follow or stop me. I closed and locked the door. I undressed and stepped into the shower. I turned on the water, keeping it on the hot end of the scale. The water drenched my hair, warm water enveloping me. The fan and the loud water probably shut out all sound. I count hear any voices from the main area. I doubted that they could hear me. I let out a dry sob. No tears came, because I willed myself to not be weak. Not now. I hadn't cried since and I really didn't want to. But I couldn't stop the sobs that raked my body. Each breath was quicker and more shallow. I dug my fingernail into my thigh as hard as I could, the pain bringing me back. I kept on digging in, forcing myself to focus on something else. My body was stronger than my emotions and more fit to deal with pain. When my breath slowed down to a safe rate, I took my hand away from my thigh. A small trickle of blood started to seep. I simply stood for a few minutes. I wasn't up for much. Eventually, I did decide to wash up. The white suds washed the sweat and grime off of my skin. I washed my hair, lathering the now dark hair that flowed down my back. I tried to compose myself. I shut off the water and changed into the grey sweat pants and a black tanktop. I quickly towel dried my fine hair. I made sure that my eyes weren't red or puffy. I was in luck. I left the bathroom reluctantly. I knew what would greet me. Sam and Dean were both sitting on their own beds. Castiel was purched awkwardly on the couch. I grabbed a beer from the mini fridge. I needed alcohol. I wasn't ready to be completely sober right now. "Didn't you already have two at the bar?" Dean asked. I cracked the cap in reply. I chugged down the first half. "So are you ready to talk about what happened?" Sam asked. I didn't speak. I just took another sip. "Anne, you have to talk sooner or later," Dean said rather harshly. I stayed silent. A few moments passed in silence. "This could be important. We need to know this," Sam said. "I might know something about this. If you can tell us what happened we can do something to help," Castiel said. I felt my heart racing. No. I needed to calm down. He might not be like them. Might. "Anne, just sit down and talk to us," Dean said. "No. I'll stand. And you can't force me to say anything," I said shortly, leaning against the wall. "Anne, this could be dangerous! You can't just keep something away from us and end up getting hurt!" Dean shouted. "I don't care and you shouldn't either! What happened was years ago! It's done! It's been fourteen years and nothing happened since then! And I've known you for a day and a half and my life isn't just some book for you to examine and questik whenever the hell you want! This is my past, not yours!" I shouted back. A silence fell upon the mismatched group. I slumped down in the carpet and finished my beer. I chucked the bottle at the wall, the bottle cracking into a few large chunks of glass. The silence hung uncomfortably in the air. No one made a noise. No one wanted to. No one dared to. "Anne-" Castiel started. "Shut it!" I yelled back. "Please-" Sam started. "Quiet! I'm not talking. I'm done here. Please, just let me sleep. Let me rest," I trembled. "Cas, can you move?" Dean asked the angel resignedly. "Thank you," I said in barely more than a whisper, speaking to the boys. I faced the back of the couch, hiding my face. I refused to turn around for the next few hours. I woke up in the early hours of the morning. I dressed and packed. I'd be going soon. I knew that I couldn't stay. I knew that I should work alone. But as I grabbed my bag, the oldest Winchester sat up. "Morning sweetheart," Dean said. "Going somewhere?" "I told you not to call me that. And you know I can't stay. You don't want me here." "Well to be honest, that's a pretty stupid move. Considering how you fell asleep with a gun under your pillow and how you could be in danger and how you have no ride and no contacts-" "It's my choice, Dean." "And letting you go so easily is our choice. There's somemthing up and until you tell is we're gonna be spending some time together. We can take a break today. Drive around." I didn't know what to say. All points were true. And I was too tempted. I shouldn't want to stay. Because if something was still going on, there was an underlying chance that they could get hurt. No. I wouldn't do that. I don't want people getting hurt because of me. Enough blood was on my hands. "Dean-" "Limited time offer, sweet cheeks. And only if you get the pie," Dean said. I couldn't. No. No. No. No. No. No. Because this was a man who was in the business. Like me. Like Sam. And one of us would die. It was only a matter of time. Depending on how long it would take, it would be hard. Because sentimental attatchments are just so emotionally weakening. We are all just liabilities. I brushed away a bit of hair from my face. No. Because I can't make mistakes. On the other hand, I knew what would happen. And maybe, then, I could have a slice of pie and know later that would move on. I threw my bags down. "Fine, Winchester. You get a day. You do know I have to leave, eventually. But maybe if we can get some ingredients, I can make you the best damn apple pie ever." "Sam, get your ass outta bed! We're going driving!" It was like a tacky movie or cheesy book. I sat in the back, looking out the window, laughing with Sam and Dean. Dean drove, like always. We are at a random diner, the first we saw. We drove for a while. We were a long way away from their little cabin. It apparently used to belong to another hunter. They told me he died. Since we were about a day or two away from Montana, we would try to find somewhere to stop. If it can down to it, we could just sleep in the Impala. The seats were at least a soft leather. "Dean, pull over here!" I shouted as we reached an empty field. I had no idea where in the west we were, but it was slightly windy and the dry grass was splayed out perfectly. "What?" He asked. "Dean, just pull over! Trust me!" I said, smiling widely. Because I had an idea. Reluctantly, Dean pulled the vintage car over to the side, tires making the dry grass crunch. When the Impala stopped, I stepped out into the warm sun. I grabbed the four plastic bags next to me and carried them out into the field. "Anne, what the hell are you doing?" Sam sighed. "It's the quintessential tacky road trip lunch in the middle of no where. Deal with it, Winchester," I said, throwing the youngest brother an apple. Dean quickly followed after making sure the Impala's doors were locked. I sat down on the the crunchy grass. I took some of the food out of the plastic shopping bags. I splayed it over the grass. Sam and Dean eventually joined me. We all sat facing each other in a sort of circle. "So what, you're into picnics now?" Dean asked. "Nah. Well, I wouldn't know, since I only went on one when I was seven and I can't remember it that well. But I figured that we have the food, we might as well waste some time since we'll probably be doing another salt and burn or exorcism within the next few days," I replied. I grabbed a chicken and lettuce wrap from the plastic bag, wrapped up in clear plastic wrap. I tore off the white nutritional label and took a large bite, large enough for it to make my mouth difficult to close while chewing. We ate for a minute in silence. Everything was quiet. No birds, no wind, no animals, and, most importantly, no monsters or demons or angels that wanted to kill us. "Anyways, you guys should tell me something. Your character bio, your origin story, somethin'," I said after swallowing a bite of the chicken wrap. "God, you are a nerd," Dean snorted. "Shut up. At least Marvel is better than porn," I smirked back. "We all have our opinions," Dean said, putting his hands up in surrender. "And my opinion is rated PG-13 and got me into the idea of shooting and hand-to-hand combat," I replied. "Guys!" Sam said, clearly impatient. "Yeah, character info. Cough it up, Winchesters," I said, biting into a slightly under ripened pear, green peel breaking under my teeth. "What do you want to know?" Sam asked. "Give me your favourite genre of music, your favourite colour, and the monster/demon/angel that you'd least like to have to face alone," I said, the pear crunching. Dean had his mouth stuffed, so Sam went first. "Alright, well I listen to whatever's on, which is generally classic rock, my favourite colour is orange, and I don't know what to answer for the last one," Sam spoke. "How about clowns?" Dean suggested. "Shut up," Sam said. "Oh my god Sam's afraid of clowns!" I laughed. This hulking hunter, buff, muscular, fit, was afraid of a clown. "Dean can't fly on planes," Sam retorted, clearly trying to bring the attention off of himself. "Whatever. Excuse me if I don't want to fly in a giant metal death-trap," Dean said indignantly. Oh my god. I could not believe this. "Anyways, go on, Dean. Music, colour, monster," I said, struggling to not laugh. "Classic rock, dark green, and if I had no weapon, I'd say a leviathan," Dean said. I wasn't surprised. I ran into a leviathan once. I beheaded it, learnt my lesson, beheaded it again, then dragged the head about two and a half miles away before burying it in a shallow creek. They were nasty. "Alright. I'll go. Pretty much anything. Alternative, rock, pop-rock/punk, or indie. My favourite colour is blue, and I'd least like to meet an angel, since the run in I had a while ago left me much worse than when I went in," I said. Dean and Sam knew not to push it, which I was thankful for. That night we slept in a small hotel room. I needed that break. I prayed no nightmares would come.


End file.
